I'm So Tired
by The-Time-Travelling-Hippie
Summary: Not all of him came back from 'Nam.


**I don't own The A-Team or The Beatles. Sorry for this awful piece of depressing shit.**

* * *

><p>His bone-like fingers wrapped themselves around the steamy mug of black, sugarless coffee, tight and close, sucking out the heat and using it to warm his icy hands. His eyes stared down into the rippling darkness, an emptiness he could only describe as maddening. A lingering feeling of numb coddled his brain like cotton wool. His body felt weak. He hadn't eaten or slept in days.<p>

The rustle of the bramble bushes in the wind made him turn and stare into the outside world. The grass was dew-slick and the muddy banks leading up to the path were thick and slippery with grime. An orange blanket of clouds covered the sky. His eyes met a raven perching on the tip of the rotten wooden fence to his left. It was silent and still. Murdock blinked, and, with a scream, it disappeared into the fading daylight.

When he looked back down and adjusted his hands he found the coffee to be as cold as a morning in January. He took a sip and choked it down with a grimace.

Footsteps padded down the hallway leading to the kitchen where he sat at the window like a child.

"You okay, buddy?"

It took Murdock a while to register the voice as his eyes were drooping like a wilting flower in winter and his mind was foggy with sleep deprivation. He scrubbed a hand down his face and turned to glance. Face was in his bottle blue pajama set with a dressing gown pulled loosely around him like a cloak. His hair was a ruffled mess of golden wheat and his eyes were a squint. It made Murdock want to laugh, yet his face stayed like porcelain.

"You still up?" Face asked. He took a seat opposite Murdock and stretched out a yawn loud enough to wake the dead. "I tell you, I'm bushed. Staying up for three days straight- never again, not even for all the money in the world." He tilted his head comically, "Well..." and stood up again. "Want another coffee?"

"Nah, I don' drink coffee," Murdock said quietly.

Face pointed to the Pilot's mug sitting on the table half empty. "That's coffee in there. You sure you should be drinking that stuff after staying up for so long?"

"I ain' tired,"

"Now I find that hard to believe." Face grabbed a mug out of the cupboard and started to fill it with coffee from the pot. "I could sleep for a million years and I still don't think it would make a difference."

"Mmmhuh..." Murdock mumbled, looking back to the window and wrapping his cold hands around the cold cup.

Face sat back down opposite him again, slurping his coffee and resting it on the table. "You sure you're alright, Murdock?" He asked with a smaller voice than before.

"Huh?" His reactions were getting slower. Face's eyes narrowed with concern and his scrutiny caught the attention of the Pilot. "I'm just fine 'n dandy." He felt penetrated; the Lieutenant's eyes were like needles drilling into his skin. "You know what? I think I'm gon' take a nap. I'll be seein' you." He quickly got up from his seat and scuttled away.

* * *

><p>When his head hit the pillow it swam with memories. An array of different flashbacks lined up inside his mind like a projector, they lit up in front of his eyes. The film grain, or the bugs, the biggest fucking bugs he'd ever seen crawling under his skin<p>

(Get 'em out, get 'em out!)

sent waves shuddering through him as he watched himself crash the bird into an ocean of trees and jungle, engulfing him and his little chopper, tossing out a few good men on the way. Noise, machine gun fire, shell fire, orders barked and barely heard through hell fire. And then. Silence.

The half-lidded eyes hazy with fatigue weakly and desperately tried to stay open. He wasn't ready for the nightmares that would surely ensue with slumber, not yet. But he would die if he stayed awake any longer.

Just one minute, just to rest his eyes.

The eyes stinging with exhaustion slammed shut like doors blown in by a wind. Slowly, he felt the warm lull of sleep draw him towards blackness and he let out a sigh.

It felt good to escape…

Within a few minutes, the man was dead to the world.

* * *

><p>It was morning. The light dawn of day shone through the crack in the curtains, pulled loosely across in a hurry. The blonde man sat up in bed and stretched. He got up and went about brushing his teeth and combing his hair.<p>

As he walked down the small corridor he noticed Murdock's door was slightly ajar, and he peered inside.

_Curiousity killed the cat, Peck._

The curtains were drawn, the television set was off, and the Pilot was sound asleep.

_But satisfaction brought him back._

His smile was one that a proud parent would give their child when they finished a race, or when they presented a crayon drawn picture to hang on the fridge. He took one last moment to check everything was how it should be and breathed in contentment, then walked down the hall.

Murdock heard the soft footsteps ebb away, felt the twitch of a tired eyelid wobble and shake as he gripped the bed sheets with all his might.

Had he fooled him?

Sleep was a luxury he could not afford, it seemed. Another night wasted away, spent quaking in bed from a nightmare sending him biting his tongue until he drawn blood to keep the screams at bay.

He couldn't take it anymore.

It had been nine days.

The Pilot, with a surprising quickness, pushed back the sheets and slung himself out of bed. He pulled on his pants and shirt and shoes, not bothering about his cap and jacket, and left the room.

He saw Face and Hannibal sitting in the small kitchen visible from the hall. With quiet footsteps he managed to get to the door leading to the garage and with bated breath he opened.

It was dark. Musky. Murdock saw the van parked in the dim of the garage and as he made his way towards it he felt desperation creep up on him like a cold sweat. He slid the door open and found it.

The case clicked open and inside Murdock found his saviour; B.A's sleeping pills; strong enough to knock out the gold-clad Sergeant and certainly strong enough to knock out him. He pocketed the pill bottle and clicked the suitcase closed, sliding back the door of the van.

"What you doin' in my van, fool?"

The Pilot screwed his eyes shut. Maybe when he opened them B.A would disappear. He turned and, with hesitation, popped one bloodshot eye open.

"I asked you," the Sergeant said, arms folded like tree trunks across his chest, "what were you doin' in my van?"

Murdock silently begged for the ground to swallow him up. "Uh, just lookin' for my cap. Seems I've misplaced it."

"Well it ain't in there,"

"Oh," the Pilot gave a lopsided grin, as fake as plastic, "I best look for it in the house then, right?" He tipped his chin up in that amusing way he always did and ambled back to the front door.

_Too close._

Maybe he could have a drink. A little breakfast wouldn't hurt, before he would down the entirety of the medication and hopefully choke to death on his own bile. It was early in the morning; perhaps Face and Hannibal would find it rather suspicious of him to be drinking at such a time. Fuck it. There was always a time for whiskey.

Within a few steps, Murdock had reached the kitchen. Two pairs of bue eyes, frosty like the world outside the window, flickered up to him suddenly.

"Hello, Murdock," the Colonel greeted with a thick voice from the cigar between his lips, "how are you feeling this morning?"

_Fucking awful._ "Just fine, Hannibal, and ya'self?"

The older man blabbered on. Murdock tuned out instantaneously; all he could think about was liquor and sleep. He edged his way to the cabinet like a python slivering over to its next meal. Closer, closer-

"What you doin', fool?"

_What the hell! Did that mudsucker follow him everywhere?_

"Gettin' myself a drink, B.A, what **you** doin'?" He muttered in a mock gruffness, only to widen his eyes when he turned and saw only Hannibal and Face staring back at him in worry.

"Isn't it a little early to be drinking, Captain?" Hannibal bristled.

"W-Where's B.A?"

Face frowned. "He's in the garage, Murdock. Are you feeling alright? You look exhausted-"

"I'm fine," Murdock assured. His hands trembled a little- he hoped the others didn't notice. "Just fancy'd a drink s'all."

"At," Face checked his watch, "10 am?"

Murdock shrugged. He took the bottle from the cupboard and slammed the door shut, not bothering with a glass, not bothering to hide his despondency anymore. "Why the fuck not, Peck?"

The Conman was taken aback for a minute, "Well I just thought-"

"And look where thinkin' got you," his reeling mind wasn't connected with his mouth when the angry words hissed out like venom, "Don't you have any whores to fuck? Leave me 'lone."

He didn't bother looking back at the shocked faces when he took his bottle and walked away.

* * *

><p><em> I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink,<em>

_I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink._

_I wonder, should I get up and fix myself a drink,_

_No, no, no._

Murdock rested the ivory sleeve of the record cover against the bedside table. His hips swayed- partly because of the alcohol- to the melody as he made his way over to the bed. He hummed along to Lennon's breezy voice, turning the volume on the record player a little higher in his daring mind set. He tipped the bottle back and took a swig.

_I'm so tired, I don't know what to do,_

_I'm so tired, my mind is set on you._

_I wonder, should I call you but I know what you'd do._

The Pilot sat his weary body down on the bed and a fumbling hand fished into his jacket pocket. He filled with the bottle and after a few failed attempts he got it open.

_You'd say, I'm putting you on,_

_But it's no joke, it's doing me harm._

_You know I can't sleep, I can't stop my brain,_

_You know it's three weeks, I'm going insane._

_You know I'd give you everything I've got_

_For a little peace of mind._

Murdock several pills out into the palm of his trembling hand, sighing.

_I'd give you everything I've got_

_For a little peace of mind._

* * *

><p>Face panicked.<p>

The door wouldn't open.

"Murdock?"

A pang of fear welled inside his stomach suddenly, a rush of dark thoughts played like a film reel in his mind's eye. He put an ear to the door and heard the melodic tune of the record player going: nothing else. His fingers turned ivory around the door handle.

"Murdock, let me in," he almost pleaded.

Hannibal had stepped in from beside him when he heard the commotion, along with B.A.

"What's going on?" The Colonel wore a frown as deep as the Atlantic.

Face scrubbed a hand through his blonde locks. "The door won't budge; Murdock isn't answering."

Hannibal pounded on the wood with a gloved hand. "Captain, open this door. That's an order."

Nothing.

Steely blue eyes squinted up at series brown. "Break it down," he said. B.A obliged.

With one swift kick, the door flew open and nearly off its hinges entirely.

The room was a pitch black space, the only light came from the doorway. Even though it was still early in the afternoon, Murdock had somehow managed to completely block out any light from coming in. Face squinted to see that the windows had been taped up, the curtains haphazardly pulled across. The record player still sang out a merry tune.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night,_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly._

_All your life,_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise._

Hearts in throats, the three men scanned the room quickly and their breaths fell short when they saw the shape crumpled up on the bed. They all but sprinted over to the mattress and pulled Murdock onto his side.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night,_

_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see._

_All your life,_

_You were only waiting for this moment to be free._

Face's eyes stung with tears. He was deaf to his own cries.

"Wake up, Murdock, wake up!"

_Blackbird fly,_

B.A was busy thumping down on the Pilot's chest, trying desperately to get Murdock to breath again.

_Blackbird fly,_

Hannibal had his hand wrapped around his son's tightly.

He looked up at the Sergeant and his icy eyes turned soft.

B.A had two big fingers pressed against Murdock's scarily thin wrist.

He shook his head.

_Into the light of a dark black night._

* * *

><p><strong>(I haven't been on for a while. I apologise for this bad attempt at self-expression. I'm awful. I probably won't publish this. Sorry.)<strong>


End file.
